Hazard Pay
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: Being a spy is a dangerous job; the ODS has learned that the hard way.


Title: Hazard Pay

Disclaimer: I do not own Chaos.

A/N: This is a collection of four standalone h/c ficlets, featuring each of the boys. Thanks to **lena7142** and **sockie1000 **for their beta'ing services.

Summary: Being a spy is a dangerous job; the ODS has learned that the hard way.

-o-

**MICHAEL**

"Billy," Michael says, taking a steadying breath. "I need you to call the asset. I don't care what you promise him, but make sure he's still up for his part."

"Aye, I reckon we don't want all this to be for naught," Billy says.

Michael takes another breath and looks to Casey. "I assume you've taken care of our tail?" he asks. "Because I don't think we're ready for another confrontation."

"It seems like we weren't ready for the first one," Casey replies gruffly.

Michael ignores it. He's still shaking from it, if he's honest, and he feels so tired. He wants to sleep; he wants to sleep so badly; but this is his job. This is his team. This is what he does. He's in charge, and that means he won't sleep - he won't rest - until everything is squared away.

He has to blink a few times to focus his eyes on Rick. "Your cover should still be good," he says. "So you'll need to make the meet."

"I will," Rick says. "But-"

Michael shakes his head. "But nothing. We're too far into this to back out now. We finish this."

"I think Rick here has a point," Billy says.

Michael is vehement. "We_ finish _this."

"Sure," Casey says tersely. "But first we get you to the hospital."

"I don't need the hospital," Michael says sharply.

Rick gapes.

Billy sighs. "So that's not a stab wound you're hiding poorly under your hand?"

Vexed, Michael looks down to where his hand is pressed over his side. He can feel the hot blood against it now, but he's been channeling his pain into productivity. "It's not so bad," he says.

"Uh huh," Casey says. "Then move your hand."

Michael frowns. "I'm the one in charge."

"And we're a team," Rick says.

"But the mission," Michael protests, even as his voice grows fainter and his arms start to go numb.

"Will be taken care of," Billy says. "Surely you trust us more than that."

Michael feels himself starting to stagger as his head spins. "I don't trust anyone."

"Now's the time to start," Casey tells him. "Now _move your hand._"

Michael doesn't like to follow orders, but he finds his strength is gone when Casey forcibly grips his hand and pulls it away. Just that fast, the blood swells and he feels his head go light. His vision tunnels, and he's going down.

Billy catches him, though, pulling him back gently to the ground while Casey rips away his shirt. He blinks and sees Rick on the phone, presumably calling for help.

"Easy now," Billy coaxes. "You of all people should know better than to hide the facts from us."

"Didn't think it was so bad," Michael mumbles.

"No, you merely believed yourself to be so indispensable that injury was impossible," Casey snorts. "Which is stupid. If you'd let us look at this an hour ago when we were attacked I could have handled it."

Michael's brows knit together. "And now?"

"Hospital," Rick tells him. "Got it all arranged."

"But the asset," Michael protests.

"Will be contacted," Billy assures him.

"And our tail," he continues.

"Is neutralized," Casey says.

"And the mission?" MIchael asks.

"Taken care of," Rick promises.

And Michael's out of questions; there are no more orders. There's just the encroaching darkness that he's held off for so long.

But as he fades, he feels Billy steady him, he feels Casey press a hand to stem the flow. And Rick is there, doing his part.

It's okay.

It's going to be okay.

Suddenly the darkness doesn't seem so scary after all.

**CASEY**

Casey opens his eyes. Everything looks...funny. His perception is off. The lights are haloed, and Billy's face floats angelically above him as the Scotsman smiles grandly. Worse still, Casey seems to be floating, flying away and away and...

Casey frowns. "I'm delirious."

"It's entirely possible," Billy agrees congenially. His face is still glowing above Casey, but he seems less angelic at least.

Frown deepening, Casey tries to remember what happened. He remember a mission; he remembers a fight; he remembers a hotel room; he remembers...nothing. "Why am I delirious?" he demands.

"Ah," Billy says. "That is a bit of a long story."

"No, it's not," Casey says, but it takes all his effort to keep his eyes focused and his voice terse. Suddenly there's two of Billy, and then three, until Casey narrows his eyes to slits and focuses on the most annoying Scotsman in the middle.

"But if you can't remember, then how do you know?"

"Because I know you," Casey says, and there's only one Billy to worry about, but now the sky seems to be swirling with clouds like marshmallow creme that Casey irrationally wants to eat. "Everything is a long story for you when in actuality the facts are very simple."

Billy sighs. "You were shot," he says, and he sounds tired. "You really don't remember?"

"I'm asking, aren't I?" Casey says.

"Well, what's one more time," Billy says softly. "You were shot during our skirmish with local security. We got the bullet out at the safehouse, but we couldn't get out, not with the mission in play. We had to stay there the better part of a week."

Casey looks down toward his leg, where there's a nagging throb that he realizes is real and not one of the many figments of his imagination. "It got infected."

"Yes," Billy says. "But in our defense, you did make it worse by insisting on fighting a group of angry, armed mobsters. In the rain. Though I think you may have already been a wee bit delirious at that point."

"Probably because you idiots got yourselves into trouble," Casey mutters, closing his eyes and settling. It helps quell the nausea and anchors his sanity even as he feels his consciousness ebb. "I don't know how you guys even survive without me."

"Well, must I remind you that you're the one sick with fever this time?" Billy points out. "And that I'm the one risking life and limb with angry gunmen looking for us to get you to the help you so desperately need. So I am saving your life, it seems."

Casey opens his eyes, eyebrows knit together. His vision is even more badly blurred, and he can feel the heat rolling off his skin. He feels like he should be annoyed, but suddenly he can't remember why. "Where are we going anyway?"

"A clinic," Billy says. "Unfortunately we need to go to the next town."

"And we're walking?" Casey asks. He tries to look around, but the buildings around him seem to be moving so it's not so helpful. "Haven't you heard of a car?"

Billy grins. "This little jaunt is just to the car," he says. "We'll be settled soon, and all will be well. You'll see."

Casey considers this, and feels as though it's credible enough not to disagree with. "So this delirium," he continues after a moment. "I don't suppose it means I'm imagining the part where you're carrying me?"

Billy's smile widens. "No, that is entirely real."

Casey harrumphs. "I would prefer delirium."

"Aw, it's not so bad," Billy cajoles. "You are just the right size! This is much less cumbersome than when our positions are reversed."

"I disagree," Casey mutters, letting his eyes slide shut.

"It's really not so bad," Billy insists.

"I would prefer death," Casey says.

"Well, I wouldn't," Billy says. "And since I'm the one doing the carrying, that's all that matters."

Casey grunts. "I suppose," he says crossly. "Just don't drop me, okay?"

"I would never," Billy says. "But even if I did, you probably wouldn't remember it."

"Let's hope I don't remember any of this," Casey says.

"Aye," Billy agrees. "Now get some rest. Things will be better when you wake up."

Billy's the worst liar among them, but Casey believes this. Delirious or not, Casey knows that much will always be true.

**BILLY**

All Rick can see is the blood.

It's everywhere, staining through Billy's pant leg and starting to pool on the floor. He goes to his knees and slips, losing traction on the sticky liquid.

He curses, trying not to look at how the blood has smeared.

"Well, that sounds bad," Billy muses, lifting his head just slightly. He's pale, and though there's humor in his voice, there's a hint of fear in his eyes.

Rick wants to tell him it's okay, he wants to tell him that they'll take care of it, but there's so much blood.

It only takes a second for Casey to come in behind him, settling on the other side and promptly removing his belt. "Only you would get stabbed on this kind of mission," he mutters, slipping it under Billy's leg while Rick lifts the bloody appendage with a wince.

Billy grimaces, his head dropping back. "You know how I am," he says through gritted teeth. "I like to keep things interesting."

"We were supposed to be_ observing,_" Casey snarks, tightening the belt tightly above the wound.

Michael's footfalls come a second later and he comes up short with a curse of his own. "Really?" he asks. "Again?"

Billy manages a weak smile. "We all have to play our part," he says. "And while Rick is quite charming, I do make a better damsel."

Michael clucks his tongue and reaches for his phone. "Getting us out is going to be a mess."

Rick swallows, blinking his burning eyes as he tries not to look at the blood again. "You think it got the femoral artery?" he asks, voice hushed as he looks at Casey.

Casey doesn't look back, but he shakes his head, positioning himself to maintain pressure on the tourniquet. "Unlikely," he says.

"How can you be sure?" Rick prompts, glancing nervously up at Billy, who is staring at the ceiling with his fists balled at his sides.

Casey raises his eyebrows, looking at Rick frankly. "Because if it had, he'd already be dead."

Michael is talking on the phone, Casey is holding pressure, and Rick doesn't look at the blood. Feeling helpless, he goes to Billy's head instead, doing his best to smile. "Hey," he says.

Billy's eyes drift over to him, blinking rapidly as he tries to focus.

"You're going to be okay," Rick tells him, even as he hears Michael demanding backup.

Billy takes a second to register that. "You sound awfully sure suddenly," he says, the words starting to slur.

"Well, you know me," he says. "I like to believe in impossible causes."

Billy's mouth turns up into a grin. "This isn't quite impossible," he says. His smile turns into a grimace as Casey adjusts the belt. "Damn close, though."

Rick shrugs, holding Billy's gaze even as the other man starts to fade. "Just the way we like it, then."

Because they'll come close, but they'll still pull through. There's more to the ODS than meets the eye, so if all Rick can see is the blood, he has to believe there's still more to the story.

With their ODS, there always is.

**RICK**

Rick's favoring his left side, trying to protect his damaged ribs. His head is aching, vision blurring as he's dragged across the ground and propped up on his knees.

He sways, but his vision focuses in time to see the gun leveled between his eyes.

"Any last words?" his assailant asks in gruff English.

Rick swallows, blinking rapidly. He doesn't want to die - there's too much he hasn't done yet - but he'd be okay if this was it. He's always accepted it as a real and justified outcome for this line of work.

He takes a breath and finds his strength, offering up a smirk. "I don't know," he says. "Maybe you should ask yourself that."

The man frowns, mouth open to mock him before his face goes blank and he crumples to the ground.

In his stead, Billy is standing there, grinning. "_Maybe you should ask yourself that_?" he asks, quirking his eyebrows.

Rick sags a little, his strength fading again. "Seemed appropriate," he says.

Billy's smile widens as he reaches down to hoist Rick up. "And here I thought you'd ignored all my instruction about how to use your words to the maximum effect," he says.

Rick wavers on his feet, but Billy steadies him. "Well, you do keep repeating it."

Billy chuckles. "And think, it finally paid off."

The world tips again, and Rick finds his arm slung over Billy's shoulder. "We going now?"

"Aye," Billy says. "Though I fear it's a bit of a trek and we don't have any pain killers."

"That sounds horrible," Rick mumbles, words starting to slur.

"Indeed," Billy agrees. "Any last words before we depart?"

But Rick's vision is fading and his consciousness is failing. "Yeah," he slurs. "Catch me now?"

He falls then, going down hard and fast into Billy's arms. The Scotsman oofs, shifting to hold Rick's weight as he murmurs, "Any time, lad. Any time."


End file.
